Right at the start of “Springsteen On Broadway”, Bruce Springsteen lists the things that you need when faced with “80,000 screaming rock n roll fans”. Amongst them are “balls, naked desire for fame, love adoration, women, a buck” and a “furious fire in your belly that won’t quit burning……”
Later in the opening monologue before “Growing Up” – the very first song on his very first record performs that duty here too – he explains that he’s a fraud, who was “never a racing car driver, a corner street punk” but did have a “magic trick.”
And that magic trick is what those of us who treat Springsteen as something more than music don’t have. And that’s why he can sell out the William Kerr Theatre 236 times from October 2017 to December 2018.
Reviewing a Springsteen album isn’t an easy task and listening to this isn’t an easy experience. I could talk about all the times I’ve listened to “Tunnel Of Love” thinking about the songs as if they were my diaries, I could also talk about the line on “Better Days” – a song he doesn’t do here, but that I listen to more than I should that goes “it’s a sad man, my friend, who’s living in his own skin and can’t stand the company….”. And it might mean nothing to you, but then if you love Bruce too, you’ll have your own moments like these.
Because I don’t have any of the elements that Springsteen does, I wasn’t able to go to any of the shows that he did on Broadway. Because I rarely have the desire or confidence to do anything that doesn’t involve me getting into my own bed each evening I turned down the opportunity to go with a mate of mine and ended up listening to the CD and watching the film on Netflix (there’s a wonderful ironic metaphor there that you don’t have to look too hard for…)
The true magnitude of that decision is brought home by the fact that to me (and the only way to come at this is from a personal standpoint) The Boss is at his best on an acoustic album called “Nebraska”. I remember hearing that for the first time and (it sounds like a cliché but it is totally true) it opened my mind to a new world in a way that only a few other records have.
With this being solo – save for two songs sung with his wife Patti Scialfa, the woman that helped him navigate through that Tunnel Of Love – it is the most naked, raw body of work that you can possibly conceive.
Some of these – “My Hometown” and “My Father’s House” – are Springsteen’s personal stories, and hearing him narrate them here before he sings the most hauntingly beautiful versions gives them another side that you fully understood. Fraud? Not here. He means this absolutely and completely.
“The Wish” sees him talk with such love about his mother. In a few weeks it will be ten years since mine died, and I’ve found it impossible not to listen to this without thinking of her. That’s the magic trick, maybe?
“Thunder Road” – the best opening track on any album, I won’t debate this – has never sounded better than the cracked way he does it here, “The Promised Land” proves that a great song can be delivered in any way you like and still be a great song, and – again speaking personally – I’ve always found the version of “Born In The USA” that is acoustic and bluesy to be better than the chest-beating, bombast that is often misappropriated by the right wing. Here it is a stark warning.
The centre-piece, though, is “Tenth Avenue Freeze Out” done on a piano here, he proves that “one plus one equals three” and when he’s talked about Clarence Clemons (no explanation will be given here as to who that is) there will not be a dry eye in the house. Anywhere in the world where Springsteen fans listen to this.
He speaks movingly about his father before “Long Time Comin’” and he speaks passionately about the state of the world before “The Ghost Of Tom Joad” and “The Rising” sounds incredible when turned into a gritted teeth ballad like this.
In what amounts to the encore here he plays “Dancing In The Dark” – pertinent here for two reasons. 1) it was the first Springsteen song I ever heard and 2) it was my mums favourite of his. I put it on a compilation CD for her that I made when she was in hospital at the end of her life and one of my last memories of her is singing that song – before “Land Of Hope And Dreams” and “Born To Run” end this in a way more riotous fashion than an acoustic gig has a right to.
Standing there, just you, an acoustic guitar and your songs, must be amongst the most testing things an artist can do. It is most certainly more difficult to listen to than you think.
At the end of this Bruce (and you feel like you know him so you are comfortable with first names) thanks the audience for what they’ve given him in the last 50 years, and then adds “I hope I’ve been a good travelling partner to you too”. The beauty is I wouldn’t even want to tell him half the things he’s helped me travel through since 1984, but I hope he knows instinctively that he has.
So formally, in a public setting. Thank you, Bruce, for everything.
